Battlecraft (2006) s-3

by Jack Terral

  She protected herself and dealt out punishment with a radar-guided 20-millimeter cannon system to take on incoming enemy missiles. Additionally, the Dan Daly sported two eight-tube Sea Sparrow missile launchers, a pair of five-inch MK-45 guns, and lastly an impressive and devastating Phalanx Close-In Weapons system. Because of her petite configuration, she was not designed for fixed-wing takeoff and landing operations, but her flight deck could accommodate up to a dozen CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters. The USS Dan Daly was run from a CDC in her island structure with satellite communications gear and state-of-the-art command and control apparatus to direct all operations. She also had a dispensary of hundred and fifty beds for the treatment of casualties. Medical personnel beyond those normally allotted to a small crew were only available when the ship carried troops.

  The ship was aptly named after another pint-sized warrior. Gunnery Sergeant Dan Daly was a five-foot-six-inch-tall United States Marine dynamo who won two Medals of Honor. The first during the Boxer Rebellion in Peking, China, and the second in operations in Haiti.

  During the night of 15-16 July 1900, in the Boxer Rebellion, Private Daly and his commanding officer went on a reconnaissance patrol to pick a spot to erect an advanced fortified position to the front of the Tartar Wall of the Foreign Legation Quarter. The two Marines expected others to show up to build that barricade, but nobody appeared on the scene. Daly volunteered to remain in the dangerous area while the C. O. returned to see what had happened. Daly was alone in the area all through the night. He came under constant attack by the Chinese, and the little guy methodically shot them down, successfully holding the position until relieved the next morning. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery.

  Fifteen years later, in October of 1915, Gunnery Sergeant Daly retrieved a machine gun lost during a hasty retrograde movement. He swam a river and took the weapon off a dead packhorse, swimming back to his patrol under intense enemy fire from hundreds of Caco rebel bandits. He received his second Medal of Honor in recognition of the deed.

  Although he never received another Medal of Honor, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for bravery in the Battle of Belleau Wood during World War I. The little gunny won this medal at a time when the Marines hit stiff resistance from well-entrenched Germans and the Americans' forward movement was stymied. Daly suddenly jumped to his feet, shouting to his men, "Come on, you sons of bitches! Do you want to live forever?"

  .

  SPACE COAST, FLORIDA

  VICINITY OF 20deg NORTH AND 80deg WEST

  15 SEPTEMBER

  1500 HOURS LOCAL

  THE Battlecraft emerged from the Canaveral Locks with Paul Watkins in firm control. As the vehicle skimmed across the Atlantic Ocean, the skipper, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, sat in his slightly elevated position overlooking Watkins and Lieutenant Veronica Rivers on the weapons systems. Brannigan had already gotten into the habit of referring to the control area as "the office."

  Bobby Lee Atwill sat with his beloved Poder-Ventaja gas-turbine engine in his small compartment just aft in the cabin. He monitored the instrumentation like a mother caring for her infant. The technician made minute adjustments when his ears picked up even the faintest out-of-tune sounds that betrayed rough spots in the power plant's operation.

  Lieutenant Jim Cruiser and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins sat in the small space between the power plant and the space they jokingly referred to as the wardroom. Here were the refrigerator, microwave, table, and benches for eating and relaxing.

  Veronica Rivers spoke into the intercom to the skipper. "Sir, I'm in contact with the Dan Daly. She's ready to receive us in her well. ETA is twenty minutes."

  "All right, Lieutenant," Brannigan replied. "Helmsman, steady on course."

  "Steady on course, aye, sir," Watkins replied.

  The short voyage continued in silence as the Space Coast of Florida quickly faded from view off the stern. Watkins, holding to the course set by Veronica, had the throttle on two-thirds speed, and the ACV whipped along above the water at a steady sixty-two miles an hour. The ride was smooth with some gentle buffeting. During trials when the throttle was opened to flank speed, the Battlecraft hit a respectable ninety-four miles an hour. Bobby Lee Atwill swore he would be able to add another two or three mph within a couple of weeks.

  'The Dan Daly is in sight, Captain," Veronica reported.

  "All right, Watkins," Brannigan said, "take control and bring us into the well."

  'Take control and bring us into the well, aye, sir."

  Brannigan had realized that the custom of having the helmsman repeat every order was a thorny habit to follow during docking procedures. "I tell you what, Watkins. When you take over control of the vehicle to bring her into our mother ship or a dock, just do your thing without repeating what I say."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "If you do something wrong, I'll let you know," Brannigan said.

  Senior Chief Dawkins added, "And I'll make a comment or two myself."

  "I hear you both loud and clear," Watkins said with a grin.

  When the throttle was cut back, Atwill came out of his engine compartment to join the crew. Watkins moved on a perpendicular course across the Daly's stern, then made a sharp turn and brought the ACV into the ship's well in a smooth maneuver at one-third speed, reversing the airscrews at just the right time to ease into the tight area at a slow crawl.

  Chief Petty Officer Warren Donaldson of the Daly's well-operations crew, whistled in admiration. "Damn nice job!" He looked into the cabin. "Hello, sir!" he called to Brannigan. "Welcome to the Dan Daly."

  "Nice to be aboard," Brannigan said, stepping across the deck and jumping up on the well ramp. He pointed to the Battlecraft. "What do you think of our toy?"

  "Jesus!" Donaldson said. "It looks like somebody took a helicopter fuselage and sat it on an ACV deck. Look at them weapons wings."

  "It's pretty much the same idea."

  Dawkins, Veronica Rivers, and Jim Cruiser joined them while Watkins and Atwill helped the ship's sailors secure the vehicle prior to the closing of the well. As soon as the task was finished, Brannigan introduced them to Donaldson. This was more than a formality. The chief petty officer would be sending them off on missions and greeting them when they returned.

  "Sir, your detachment is up on deck waiting for you," Chief Donaldson said.

  This unexpected linking up with the Brigands lightened Brannigan's mood. He motioned to the others to follow him, leading them to the ladder that would take them topside. The SEAL detachment, under the command of Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson, had observed assault-section and fire-team integrity when they formed up to meet the skipper. Brannigan took Matt's salute, asking, "What about the gear for Lieutenant Cruiser, Senior Chief Dawkins, and me?"

  "It's all waiting for you in your quarters, sir," Matt said. He caught sight of the attractive female officer. "Who's the hot chick?" he asked under his breath.

  'That hot chick is Lieutenant Rivers, who is going to be our radar and weapons system officer aboard the ACV."

  "You mean she's coming along on the mission with us?"

  "Yeah," Brannigan said. He lowered his voice. "And tell the men to be extra nice to her. I'm beginning to think that Lieutenant Cruiser is developing a special interest in the lady."

  "Aye, sir!"

  Brannigan took over the formation and introduced Veronica, Paul Watkins, and Bobby Lee Atwill. He was about to give the SEALs a quick orientation on the Battlecraft when he was interrupted by the arrival of a young Marine lance corporal.

  "Captain Gooding is waiting for you in the aft ready room, sir," the sharp kid said to Brannigan. "He told me he wanted you and your entire crew up there immediately if not sooner after you dock."

  "Tell him we're on our way," Brannigan said. "And pass this on to your buddies. We're a detachment, not a crew."

  "Understood, sir!"

  Brannigan didn't bother with formalities as he ushered his people across the flight
deck. The ship's crew eyed the strangers with friendly curiosity. The scuttlebutt had it that there were exciting times ahead for this mini-assault ship.

  Brannigan hurried his people to the island and went up to the second deck and down a corridor. When they walked in, they didn't find the ship's skipper, as expected. However, the man waiting for them was not a stranger to the SEALs.

  "Hello, Lieutenant," Commander Tom Carey said.

  "You're a hell of a long way from home, sir," Brannigan remarked. "How did you manage to sneak out of Coronado?"

  "I've been given the honor of acting as both your N2 and N3 from the Dan Daly Carey said. "You and your people sit down and make yourselves comfortable. I'll give you a quick briefing and then you can settle in." Carey waited for Brannigan's detachment to situate themselves in the available seating before continuing. "Your mission will be to take your ACV out to designated patrol areas to look for vessels carrying arms shipments toward Pakistan. The terrorist group al-Mimkhalif has suffered grievous damage to their delivery program. Our intelligence tells us they have reorganized the system to a new methodology. We are going to discover what that is, and deal it a death blow--literally. As you've probably already figured out, we don't have a clue as to their supply sources, exact routes, or points of pickups and deliveries of weaponry under their latest SOP. So you and the intrepid Brigands are facing some real serious challenges."

  "Will we be doing all our work at sea, sir?" Matt Gunnarson asked.

  "Negative," Carey answered. "We expect raids on coastal areas too. That means fighting ashore. You'll develop your own SOPs for this activity as you go along, so I want you to all feel free to make suggestions. In other words, share all lessons learned. You'll be going up against a bunch of loonies who think that killing or being killed by those who they consider nonbelievers guarantees them an eternity in Paradise in luxurious surroundings with beautiful women."

  "The same old shit we went through in Afghanistan," Bruno Puglisi said from the back.

  "Right you are," Carey said. "We're going to be given a constant feed of the latest intelligence from several sources. This guarantees you the latest information that will throw some light in this dark tunnel you're going into. Any questions? No? All right then, get settled in. You'll go out as soon as we get the word to launch the operation."

  Brannigan glanced at Dawkins. "Senior Chief, take over the detachment." "Aye, sir!"

  Chapter 4.

  MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES

  16 SEPTEMBER

  2200 HOURS LOCAL

  THE seedy little waterfront bar had a name as did all such establishments, but in this case only the neighborhood inebriates knew it. The hand-painted plank that once identified the shabby establishment had blown off during the typhoon of 1998 and had not been replaced. The dinginess of the interior displayed even more careless attention to maintenance and housekeeping. A pair of handles to a broken beer tap remained mounted on the bar after becoming dysfunctional years earlier, the mirror on the wall to the rear was cracked and dirty, while an out-of-date pornographic calendar near the front door showed the faded likeness of a naked blonde lying back in a love seat with her legs invitingly spread open. A decade or so before, a Portuguese merchant seaman who fancied himself quite the artist had drawn a crude phallus entering the model's body.

  Abduruddin Suhanto, chief operating officer of the Greater Sunda Shipping Line, sat at a corner table, nursing a cheap gin drink that had been served him in a dusty glass. He patiently awaited the arrival of an old antagonist who had intercepted dozens of his narcotics voyages over long years of smuggling. This bribable, focused opportunist was Commander Carlos Batanza of the Philippine Navy.

  The barmaid, a faded corpulent veteran of a long-ago career spent entertaining sailors in dockside cribs, walked over to the table with another serving of gin. She brought a clean glass since Suhanto had tipped her a peso for the first drink. She scooped up some change from the table, including another tip, and went back to the bar, sitting down on a corner stool where she maintained watch over the drinkers. Two patrons, intoxicated almost to a state of unawareness, sat silently at the bar, staring down at their drinks. Another man was passed out under a table, lying in vomit and urine.

  The barmaid's attention was diverted by the entrance of a short, muscular Filipino man who looked like a plainclothes policeman in his white suite and tie. He paused for a moment, surveying the interior. He spotted Suhanto and walked past the woman to join him at the table. The man smiled and nodded as he sat down. "Hello, my friend."

  "Hello," Suhanto said.

  The man, Commander Carlos Batanza, turned toward the bar. "A double shot of scotch," he ordered from the barman. "And don't shove any of that watered-down shit at me."

  The drink was poured from a special bottle reserved for cops and other people who could make trouble for the bar owner. The woman brought the libation over and left abruptly after the delivery, knowing better than to expect any payment, much less a gratuity, from the customer.

  Batanza tasted the drink, smacked his lips, and turned a heavy-lidded glare on Suhanto. "I am here. What is it you have to offer me?"

  "I have come into a situation that has a great potential of producing much money for the two of us," Suhanto said softly. "I am speaking of a chance to become permanently wealthy. This is the sort of monetary reward that provides big investments, mansions, and villas in Europe."

  "Really? I take it you mean more money than to simply buy an expensive car."

  "Naturally, Commander. I have ventured into another area of surreptitious dealings. Arms." He was pleased to note that Batanza's eyes had opened wider. "Of course it all depends on how well--or bad--things go."

  "Then what must I do for us to get our hands on this fortune you speak of?"

  "You have the means to make deals in weapons sales, do you not?"

  "I have certain contacts," Batanza replied. "But this is a very tricky state of affairs. Particularly if the weaponry has been stolen from government sources."

  'These most definitely have not," Suhanto stated confidently, though he really hadn't the slightest idea where al-Mimkhalif obtained the goods. 'These are untraceable and easy to resell."

  'Then why do you not do it yourself?" Batanza wanted to know.

  "I have no colleagues in that business," Suhanto admitted. "You, on the other hand, have displayed great efficiency in passing on many types of goods for a great profit."

  "Mmm," Batanza mused. "And to whom are you supposed to deliver these weapons?"

  "A Turkish arms dealer," Suhanto lied, knowing that even Batanza would not be greedy enough to steal from an Islamic terrorist organization. The corrupt naval officer was more used to the shadowy world of criminality with no political or religious agendas. Suhanto, on the other hand, would technically also be the one who was robbed as far as al-Mimkhalif was concerned. "I know the Turk only by the code name of Viski."

  "Never mind him," Batanza said. "I shall not be having much to do with the fellow, eh?" He treated himself to another sip of scotch. "So what is your plan of operation?"

  "I am now devoting all my ships to this new business ," Suhanto explained. "In particular, I shall employ the Jakarta ."

  "Ah! Captain Muharno's vessel! An excellent man."

  Suhanto smiled, thinking, You've stolen enough off his ship, you greedy bastard! But he said. "I know you find him trustworthy. At any rate, Muharno picks up the shipments off the island of Palawan at a predetermined location."

  "I am not concerned with that," Batanza said impatiently, although he filed the information into his brain's memory banks.

  "Of course not, Commander," Suhanto said. "From that point my vessels go to a specific location for delivery to other ships. Naturally, you are to intercept my cargo before the rendezvous."

  "Of course!" Batanza exclaimed. "I think a seventy-five percent share is only fair for me."

  Now Suhanto felt a surge of confidence. This time Batanza was not in the driver'
s seat. "In my opinion your share should be no more than a third."

  "Ridiculous! I have the means of disposing of the arms."

  "And I have the means of obtaining them," Suhanto said. "I will no longer bargain. It is sixty-forty in my favor." He leaned forward aggressively. "Take it or leave it."

  Batanza's jaw tightened with anger for only a moment. This was a great opportunity to make what the Americans call "big bucks." "I acquiesce to your demands."

  "Excellent," Suhanto said, knowing that the Filipino would not cheat him and spoil his chance at a continued source of big money. "I have a chart for you. It shows the routes from pickup to delivery. The first voyage will be early in the morning on a date yet to be determined. I shall dispatch the Jakarta." He handed the topographical rendering over to Batanza. "Choose where you wish to have the interception."

  Batanza unrolled the chart and studied the course. 'The best place would be in the South China Sea that same afternoon. I can give you the exact longitude and latitude later."

  "I will inform Captain Muharno," Suhanto said.

  Batanza grinned almost impishly. "Will you be returning to narcotics if these arms shipments cease?"

  The question infuriated Suhanto, but he controlled his temper, keeping the expression on his face calm and inscrutable. "I thought perhaps we might work out a new deal in that instance since we are going to be colleagues."

  "That will never happen," Batanza said. "It will be very rewarding for me to catch your vessels at sea with cargos of dope. I think I was getting at least a fifth of them, eh?"

  "You were getting half," Suhanto said.

  "You are a lying snake," Batanza snarled. "We will discuss this later."

  "Let us concentrate all our efforts on that first arms shipment."

  "Of course," Batanza said. He finished his scotch, then got to his feet. After a quick nod to his host, he left the bar.